Rivalry
by Beldaran's Song
Summary: Being the King-In-Waiting and a attempted-murder victim, Vivian's life is bleak and silent - up to where two women step into both his life and those of them around him, and change it dramatically. A happy ending? I do not know. Read on.


Prologue

His face hidden behind the full-face mask he was wearing, Vivian Sin'Amor sat in a council chamber fully draped in black velvet, in the south tower. He was alone; the earls and barons of various parts of the country had briefly paid their respects to him upon arriving at his fortress, and then had gone to prepare for the ostentatious masked ball that had been organised that evening. A Scarlet Ball... Vivian pulled off the mask and sighed bitterly. Leave it to Theon McInsane, the most pampered princeling in the entire castle, or even in the entire country, to think of something like that.  
Vivian had, at first, refused to attend at all, but as the King-In-Waiting, it was his duty to attend. After that, he had listened politely to the blunt mentions by Theon of good tailors and seamstresses who surely could make him the most splendid outfit. Finally, Vivian had just as bluntly refused his suggestions and had not seen the blond princeling since.  
Now, as the evening drew nearer, the wan light of a setting winter sun illuminated his face, and traced its ghostly fingers over a vivid scar. In that moment, a tale was told without words. The tale of a prince, who would one day become King-In-Waiting, on whom had been made an attempt at assassination. There had been a feeble story about "outsiders" that had wanted revenge, but, of course, no one had been fooled. Vivian had been fifteen at the time. Five years had passed since then, and he had been forced to act civil all that time towards the person from whom the order had originated: the very same prince that had organised this foolish Scarlet Ball that evening. With a bitter smile, Vivian traced the well-known scar with a long-fingered hand. It always felt rough, and the white scar tissue did not colour in summer. It had left one of his eyes half-blind, and a vividly-coloured scar from his eyebrow to halfway down his cheek. They had tried to get at his throat, and had damaged his face in the process in a mixture of fury and panic.  
He watched the sun set, and then rose with the deepest of sighs. "Might as well get it over with," he muttered quietly. "Foolishness." He quietly left the room, leaving nothing behind but the blank white mask he had worn that day.

"Hurry up!" It was snapped at his tailor. Theon McInsane, the third in line for the throne, was in a very foul mood. While downstairs everything was absolutely perfect, he had not yet managed to convince his older relative - he silently snarled at the word - that this was the perfect opportunity to find a bride, and the black-haired prince even refused to dress in red. "Would that he would cooperate for once," muttered Theon angrily.  
"What was that, your Highness?" the tailor asked politely, snipping a thread.  
"Nothing!" It came out sharper than he expected. "Nothing," he said, more calmly. "Are you done?"  
The tailor nodded. "I'll have your clothes for this evening laid out in your dressing rooms in an hour, your Highness." He took the clothes to his sewing table and, before seating himself, bowed to the leaving prince.

"YOU! Get in here!" Theon, just wanting to enter his sitting room, snapped his fingers at a passing serving girl, who made a startled curtsy. "I want you to bring this to the King-In-Waiting." She did not reply, but took instead the parcel he had indicated. Scarlet silk and satins peeked out of the thin paper, along with a surplus of fluffy feathers and ribbons. "Tell him they are a gift from me," said Theon, and entered his sitting rooms without another word. Just a serving girl.  
Meanwhile, outside, the girl looked critically at the clothes. She shook her head disapprovingly, and then took off with the parcel, her deep red curls flying after her, and the sound of her quiet steps fading soon.

The Great Hall looked splendid. One by one, guests started to trickle in, the large dance floor remaining empty, and all was a flurry of satiny skirts, silk masks, ostentatious display of wealth and jewelry, and red, red roses, hung and set everywhere. Red banners bearing the tree of life in black, red drapes, all was scarlet. Darkness had fully engulfed the lands around the fortress, and even the stars hid themselves from view, as if to protect themselves from the stupidity of it all.  
Vivian watched it all, from his rooms. "Idiocy," he grumbled to himself. A polite tap on the door distracted him from the view. As he turned around, a serving girl stepped in, her eyes lowered demurely, carrying a parcel. Vivian groaned inadvertently. "Can I help you?" he asked politely.  
"His Highness, Theon, told me to bring these to you," she answered softly, looking up. Vivian had no choice but to take the parcel from her. He laid it on a polished table by the window, unopened. "Thank you," he replied, "Even though I will not need those."  
She nodded, quickly opening the parcel. "I know, my Lord," she answered with a tentative smile, "but that's why I asked your tailor to choose clothing he deemed fit for this evening." She pulled away the hideous red clothing, revealing sober black underneath. Vivian wondered at who this girl was.  
"Are you new here?" he asked curiously, as he examined the clothing and, with a sigh of relief, the unadorned white half-face mask.  
She shook her head. "No, my Lord, I have been living and working here since I was sixteen."  
"And how old are you now?" asked Vivian, while putting on the black velvet doublet. He looked at her. Dark red hair framed her face, her eyes were very blue, and her skin was the colour of magnolia flowers.  
"I'm twenty-two years old, my Lord," she answered him, as she laid out the rest of his clothes. She helped him in the long velvet coat and looked at him critically. "That will do." She adjusted the collar quickly and closed the buttons on his sleeves. Pulling back his warrior's tail afresh, she noticed the silvery grey hairs that began to creep in, but she said nothing. She did, however, feel a great sympathy to this man, who just seemed to be so alone for all that he did for the kingdom.  
She looked at the last ornament she was holding. "I'd take this to wear, so you can give it to whomever you like. It's more special than those red roses, because there's only one of these tonight." On that note, she laid down whatever she had been holding and left. Vivian paused in tying his mask to see what it was. With a smile he picked up the white rose that was now so special, and inhaled its fragrance.  
"I will," he answered, even though she had already left five minutes ago. "I will." He smiled again. Then he prepared himself mentally to endure this evening, and he, too, left. The image of those deep red curls lingered in his mind.

Merriment, drink and food mingled, and Theon sat, a glass of wine in his right hand and a lady at his side, watching the festivities. He smiled at himself. Vivian was still nowhere to be found, and honestly, Theon did not mind. Right now, he was the only noble of the royal house attending, which meant that all the respects were paid to him. He didn't hear the whispers, nor the different chords the musicians suddenly struck, to form a respectful waltz that was loved by the King-In-Waiting. Only when he looked up to start towards the dance floor, he saw what was happening. Immediately, his lust for dancing was gone, replaced by a completely different want.  
There, on an empty floor, his relative, Vivian Sin'Amor - to his anger, dressed in black -, was dancing with one of the most beautiful women Theon had ever seen. Her garments were very simple, but so well tailored it made her appear more regal than every other lady attending. She also wore bordeaux, rather than scarlet. Her face was partly obscured by a mask the same shade of red as her clothing, adorned with black freshwater pearls. A jeweled coronet nestled among flaming curls, that were intricately braided, cascading like a waterfall down one shoulder.  
The song ended, and Vivian bowed deeply to the woman, who made an infinitely graceful curtsy, and then left the dancefloor with her head high, and a white rose held loosely between two fingers. A stunned silence greeted the last notes of the waltz, and then murmurs burst loose: it sounded very much like a disturbed beehive.  
"My lords and ladies!" Vivian's voice was clear and deep, an unspoken command to order all to silence. It betrayed absolutely nothing of his unwillingness to attend this ball. "My father is, as you know, unable to attend. Therefore, I welcome you all to the Great Hall of Sin'Amor, and am your host this very evening. Drink, feast, be merry!" At a tiny sign, the group of musicians struck up an ancient song of heraldry, and after that, the festivities continued. Theon sat, seething, and did not partake anymore. But, even more than the hatred he felt towards Vivian Sin'Amor, he felt a burning lust for that unknown woman, who had carried her head so proud and had defied everyone there... he wanted her. And he would make her bow to his will. 


End file.
